Forget Me Not
by Tangledupandsideways
Summary: Gillian remembers Cal, but Cal doesn't remember Gillian.


_"I'm here to remind you what's lost is never gone_

 _You will forget forget forget forget me not"_

 _Marianas Trench - Forget Me Not_

* * *

"Cal Lightman!"

He turns around at the call, melodious and light.

The woman is small, but her presence is this large, all-encompassing warmth. She wears dark denim pants tucked into trendy ankle boots, a pink blouse, and honest joy. She tucks her medium brown hair behind her ear. It's greying at the front. He's surprised she doesn't colour it. She looks like the kind of woman who takes pride in appearances.

"I'm sorry?" He can't place her, can't remember seeing her before. But by her instant recognition, she should be familiar to him, too.

"You're never sorry." The words are quiet wounds, gaping open and bleeding. He doesn't like the way pain looks on her, like it's unbearable but she'll bear it anyway. It's the way it looks on him sometimes.

"Gill," she says. "Dr. Gillian Foster. We worked together. Lightman Group 2003."

"I'm sorry." He shrugs, taking another pass over Dr. Foster.

She's beautiful, _really_ beautiful. Though not exactly the type he'd typically go for, there was just something about her that stirred desire within his gut. He can imagine she'd be popular with the men, her delicate features making her seem innocent while her figure (and the careful way she wielded it) made her seem like sin incarnated. Best of both worlds. A hellcat in bed, a lady everywhere else.

"That's alright," she says, eyes flashing. "Not all of it was very fun to remember."

"No?"

"No, Cal." Her eyebrows shoot up at her own words. "Dr. Lightman, I mean."

He steps closer, close enough to feel her body heat. He touches the freckled skin of her arm, retracting the movement quickly when he feels goosebumps rise up- over his flesh and hers.

"You don't have to do that."

"Do what?" She lifts her chin just slightly after she speaks the words.

He rolls his eyes.

"Lie to me."

She gulps, feeling a warmth creep over her.

"I didn't lie," she argues.

He ignores her, gesturing over his shoulder towards the door. "You want to go somewhere?"

She doesn't know him anymore. She can't see the intention behind the words, can't even hear it.

"Where?"

His smile is meant to ease her. She can't help that her face smiles back.

"I could eat," he suggests. "You hungry?"

She's nodding before she processes the thought. Her mind is in two places. Rather, two times.

"Sure. Sounds good."

"I know a place I think you'll like. You can tail me."

Her heart jumps at the suggestion. Finally they're together again and he wants them apart. Even if just for a minute it feels too much.

"Okay," she says despite herself.

"Look, if you're not comfortable..."

She smiles. "No, I am. It's just... It's been a long time."

And she misses him, misses the decade they had together and the feelings that rise up when she sees his face, his unique gait.

He inclines his head as he walks, encouraging her to follow. Her feet move fast to keep up with him.

"I'm over here," she says, pointing to her new dark blue Honda.

His car is the same. Everything about him is the same. From the stubble on his jaw to the grit of his accent, it all just makes her ache.

She follows behind him once she gets seated, staring at the back of his car. The only addition is a small bumper sticker. _Berkeley Dad_. For Emily. He still was so soft for her.

She almost misses the quick turn he makes. They pull up at a tiny restaurant just outside of downtown DC, the one that was the perfect middle ground between her house and Cal's, a ten minute drive for her and twelve for him. He was a gentleman that way. Tears spring up in her eyes at the thought. Pushing down the feeling, she pulls into the parking space beside his and pushes open her door.

* * *

"We've been here before," she whispers.

They're standing side by side as they walk through the parking lot, her arm occasionally bumping against his and setting fire to his lungs. Breathing hurts.

"I'm sorry." It's become a mantra. He winces, tries to think of something else to say, but comes up with nothing.

He pulls open the restaurant door, relieved to find something to take up a beat of empty time. He's thanked with a smile.

"Gillian!" one of the waitresses squeals. "It's been ages."

"Hi Mary," says Gillian, bright smile showcasing a neat row of teeth.

She doesn't check her name tag, he's watching. The waitress is familiar. She's the one who doesn't serve him, ever. Maybe she knows him, too. Maybe it's more difficult than it seems to know a person who doesn't know you.

"It's so nice to see you and Cal together again," she gushes, ushering them to a booth in the back.

Gillian's someplace far away, her eyes on the red fabric of the seat. It means something to her, something big.

"Our table," she whispers, her eyes not lifting.

He wants to apologise for not knowing that, not knowing her or them together. Instead, he just sits down, lets his face do the talking. She's seemed to understand so far. Gillian sits down, too, takes the offered menu. She squeezes it in her fingers, not moving to open it.

"They have live jazz. On Fridays."

He nods. That he knows.

"You used to take me. We'd eat and we'd dance and we'd share a taxi- they make a really good margarita- and you'd say that it wasn't so terrible, but I always knew you did enjoy it."

He pauses. "Did we... Date or?"

"You were my best friend."

"So, that's a no?"

"That's a no."

He pretends the feeling in his stomach is just gas.

"What else were we?"

"Business partners," She says. "We founded the Lightman Group together."

"So we spent a lot of time together." It's hard to think he hadn't wanted her name in lights with his, that it had been just his name. Was he always so self-centred with her?

"We did."

Mary comes with drinks, though they haven't ordered anything. A margarita for Dr. Foster, a lager for him.

"On the house. For the happy reunion. Your usuals?"

Gillian agrees, surrendering her menu. Cal hesitates.

"Humour me?"

She hasn't asked anything of him yet and she seems so pure. He's hurt her enough already. So he nods, handing Mary his menu.

"Thank you," she says, eyes glistening.

"I may not remember you, but I do trust you."

He looks disappointed as his plate of pork chops and roast potatoes is placed in front of him. It hurts that his trust in her is lost so quickly.

"You can order something else, Cal. It's okay."

"I don't want to disappoint you."

"You haven't." Gill looks down at her own plate, her matching meal suddenly a lot less appetising.

"What did I say about the lying?"

"I'm sorry," Gillian says, breaking his gaze. "You know, this wasn't a good idea. Maybe I should go."

"No." He cuts a piece of the meat and spears it on his fork, sticking it into his mouth.

His eyes shoot open wide as he chews. Gillian giggles.

"That's actually good," Cal says.

"Yeah," Gillian agrees.

"You were right."

It's better than an apology.

She cuts into her own food, now much more happy to have it in front of her, happier to have him in front of her. Maybe it won't be so bad. Maybe this will be good for the both of them. Maybe she was wrong to fear disaster.

* * *

"What's that?" he says, pointing a hand to her face.

"Nothing." Her veil falls over her again, sheltering her emotions from his gaze.

"It's nothing," she promises. "Dance with me?"

He looks at her wide eyed.

"There's no music."

Her responding laugh is musical in itself.

"We have never needed music, Cal."

He smiles, adoring the slight dimple in the crook of her smile. Standing slowly, he offers a hand. She takes it.

She lets him hold her close, merely a breath of space between them. He smells different, but only slightly, like he's traded pine for cedar. And from this close, the scars are easy to see. She closes her eyes, resting her chin on his shoulder as he sways them gently around the floor. Taking deep breaths in through her nose, she pretends that no time has passed, that this is a dance between two friends and not two strangers.

She remembers the way he would swing her around when he was feeling silly, spinning her in circles and dipping her dangerously low, while she'd laugh and he'd grin and his eyes would get all crinkled up and slimmed thin and just perfect. But when she pulls back to look at him, he's not smiling at all.

He does smile at her when she steps away, her boots making a soft sound against the carpet. Something flickers in her eyes, but he doesn't know what it is. It passes too quickly. He sits back down again, raising his eyes to her.

She moves with catlike grace, her body flexing and stretching just in the walk back to the table and sitting in the booth.

 _'You're beautiful,'_ he wants to tell her.

Instead he says "Dessert?"

The smile that rises up over her face, pulling one cheek higher than the other is devilish.

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

"So, I take it you like sweets?"

"Chocolate anything," she agrees.

"Good to know."

She clicks her tongue and winks in a perfectly timed dance. His heartbeat quickens.

* * *

Gillian puts away the largest slice of chocolate cake he's ever seen without the slightest struggle, wearing the largest smile he's ever seen.

"Wow," he says.

She makes no comment, but her eyes sparkle.

"So what is it that happened between us?"

The sparkle shatters, breaking into splinters which reflect little rainbows of sorrow and... _something else_.

"We had a... Disagreement," she says carefully, eyes centered on the tablecoth. "A falling out."

He's about to speak when she breaks the silence herself.

"It wasn't just one thing, Cal. It was everything. It was trouble with the Group and Emily and Zoe and... Just everything."

"You were in love with me," he breaks.

Gillian's eyes fall closed, but reopen quickly.

"That's not... I didn't say that."

"You don't have to say it," he scoffs.

"I left the Lightman Group and I left you, too," she argues. "I don't leave the people I love."

"Not even when they hurt you? I can tell I hurt you."

She changes tact, so swiftly he almost doesn't see it.

"You told me you loved me that night, tried to stop me from leaving."

"I did? What did you do?"

"Called you a jackass. Left anyway."

"I probably deserved it."

"You did." She smiles, her lip rising up over her gums, but her eyes don't wrinkle.

"I'm sorry," she bursts, shaking her head as soon as she says it. "I... I was so horrible. So horrible."

He lifts his hand to his head, feels for the largest of his scars, shock white against the brown of his hair.

"Did you...?"

"God no!" she covers her mouth with her hand at the implication.

"But?"

She sighs, finally meeting his eyes. Hers are filled with tears.

"You called. You called, but I was so... Angry with you. I didn't answer. And then... Then, I heard, but I couldn't... I'm sorry."

"I have to go," she says, a tear finally escaping her eye. She rubs it away forcefully.

"You don't have to go," he says, voice soft.

"Yes. I do. Thank you for talking with me."

She fishes two wrinkled twenties from her handbag, placing them on the table.

She gets to her feet, smoothing her pants before moving to pass him.

* * *

"Gill," He likes the sound of it, the round fullness of her name on his lips. He wraps his hand around the bony delicacy of her wrist, tugging gently. "Don't go."

Despite the slow stream of tears, she smiles. For him, always for him. And something pulls in his stomach. It feels good, really good.

"I want to remember," he says. "Don't want to forget you."

"You won't," she says. He doesn't know which part she's referring to. "You loved me once."

She tugs free of his grip and he stands immediately, throwing a random amount of money on the table and quickening his pace to follow her out of the restaurant. But, she lengthens her own stride and moves so fast, he can't catch up.

Her form gets smaller and smaller against the backdrop of twilight as she slips away. _Again._ He closes his eyes, no longer content in his loneliness, in his lie. This time, he won't let her get away. This time, he'll find the right words to make her stay.

 _A/N: I was inspired to write this by my unwillingness to reread part 6 of pjstillnoon's series because it hurts my soul, the song above, and the poem "A Rondel for Margarita" by Gail Kavanagh. Let me know if you have any interest in poetry. I've written some for Lie to Me ages ago and I'm thinking of bringing out the red pen, then posting them. Also considering writing some crossover if anyone will read it._


End file.
